


knit me together

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: ALSO WHO HERE AUDIBLY GASPED WHEN MANDO LOST HIS HELMET, Comfort No Hurt, Drabble, Gen, HECK ME THE ANGST???, Hurt/Comfort, ManDadlorian, Post-Episode: s01e08 Redemption, but what about protective baby yoda, just all comfort and no hurt, quality, vaguely, youve all heard of protective mando
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Baby yoda wants his father.Mando is just very very tired.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 597
Collections: Movies





	knit me together

**Author's Note:**

> Yall writing this was so hard, and by that I mean trying not call baby yoda baby yoda was so hard XD

Beskar steel glints in the starlight. Smears of red, green, and yellow from dashboard lights and alerts create a cascade of colors to reflect off of the armor placed on top of it. Alone, in the cockpit, laid back in the pilots chair, is a mandalorian. If anyone were around in this deep reach of space, and happened across the ship, they would be greeted by the rarest sight in the galaxy. An off guard mandalorian, without his helmet.

But space is very big and very vast. The chances of someone jumping in to find the small lonely Razorcrest drifting through the farthest reaches of space are well over a billion to one. However, the chances of someone coming across the sleeping mandalorian without his helmet are actually significantly higher. The reason for that is below the top deck lies a child, swaddled in blankets in a small lonely bed where the mandalorian once slept before giving it up for his child's sake.

The child blinks huge liquid brown eyes and stares and stares at the ceiling with furrowed intensity. The small wrinkled green child is making a decision. The small creature eventually sits up, choice made, and stares at the door with the same determined stare. He picks himself up, nearly tripping over his brown robes and falling down again. But the child is not to be swayed.

He drags his borrowed blanket along and glares at the door blocking his path. The lock clicks after a moment and the door slides away. The child coos appreciatively, long ears wiggling with pleasure.

It doesn’t take long for him to make his way up to the cockpit, long heavy blanket trailing behind him. The child tilts his head, cooing at the sight of his father's helmet on the dashboard.

He has never seen him without it.

The baby turns, eyes wide. His inquisitive ' _eh?_ ' would normally be enough to awake the mandalorian from his sleep. This time, however, he does not stir. He does, after all, have a good reason. There is, for the time being, no reason to be hypervigilant as he has been for the past few weeks. That and he has had a very long week. He has gone from nearly losing his child to losing two friends, to being blown up by rogue imperial stormtroopers.

It is no wonder he doesn’t wake.

The child waddles forward, pulling at his father's feet insistently.

After no response, the child clambers up the steel boot, easily making his way onto his father's chest, where he stares, almost wonderingly.

He has never seen his face before- and while he may be too young to fully realize the significance of catching a mandalorian without his helmet, he still senses something deeply important about it.

The child leans forward, already memorizing the soft curves of his father's face and the dark hair curling around the curve of his neck. His lips are slightly twisted in sleep, worry there, even in the crook of his brow in supposed relaxation. The baby coos, something fierce rising up in it at the sight of the healing cuts and bruises marring his face.

The child remembers the blast that caused such damage, or at least it remembers the faint pitter-patter-pat of his father's heart, weak against the ground, his life leaking out into the force like water from a cracked jar.

But here, now, the child is able to sense that the mandalorian is safe. In between the soft crook of his neck and arm, amidst the quiet steady rise and fall of his chest, nestled near the familiar smell of gun smoke and spice, he can clearly sense that his father is warm and alive and well. Here, he decides, he will stay.

The child's three fingered grip tightens on the scratchy wool blanket as he struggles to pull it up over them.

The mandalorian shifts, and sighs, pulling the child closer protectively, even in sleep. The baby coos happily and the furrows in his father's brows smooth out and away at the sound.

The child chitters contentedly, burrowing into his warm nest of blankets in his father's arms. Slowly, still looking up and drinking in the rare sight of his father’s face, he closes his large dark eyes and falls asleep.

Neither of them are plagued by nightmares for the rest of the night.


End file.
